


Aliens vs. Demons

by fannishliss



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Superwho, doctor who supernatural crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss





	Aliens vs. Demons

title: "aliens vs. Demons"  
Author: [](http://fannishliss.livejournal.com/profile)**fannishliss**  
genre: crossover, case, fluff  
rating: g  
pairings: Nine/Rose, brotherly Winchesters  
length: 1950 words

Note: then_theres_us ficathon prompt from [](http://365challenge.livejournal.com/profile)[**365challenge**](http://365challenge.livejournal.com/) : [Crossover. Doctor Who/Supernatural](http://then-theres-us.livejournal.com/289499.html?thread=5338843#t5338843).  This is kind of a crazy little ficlet, but it's what came up!

  
===  
   
Dean doesn't count cards, but he's great at poker.  He plays with his face and with his hands.  He's a natural.  

Sam sucks at cards.    His pupils dilate when he pulls a good card and he sweats when he's ahead.  He lets Dean handle the cards and he handles the money. Dean has a tendency to throw everything on the table.  Sam does the math and keeps them inside their margin.

Dean hates Vegas.  He hates the easy gaiety of it all.  The veneer makes him sick.  He likes to hit the tables, clean up, and split.  Sam kind of likes the town.  He likes to hear people's stories, and everyone in Vegas has a story.  The juxtaposition of neon and Picasso tickles his irony.  Sometimes they end up in a really sweet hotel room and never end up paying.  Dean at least can appreciate that.  Sam likes the food.  So does Dean.  On that much they agree.

Dean has been noticing this dangerous looking British guy.  He's scoping everything out.  Dean's playing the tables at TI.  It's got the stupidest theme of any hotel on the strip, marooned halfway between Texas Roadhouse and Sunken Pirate Ship, and the marks there are spectacular loudmouths in tengallon cowboy hats and painted on jeans who can't hold their whiskey and should've stuck to Shiner.  

The chick on his arm looks cheap — bottle blonde, too much makeup — but Dean sees the brains in the way she looks things over.  It's Vegas all right, nothing's really what it seems.

As long as neither one of them's a demon, Dean really doesn't care.  Sam hasn't cut him off yet and he's running the table.  

That's when the British guy sits down.  Dean throws a glance at Sam, who's nursing a Corona at the bar. Dean glances at the blonde, who's also sidled up to the bar.  "Guinness for the lady"  he mouths at Sam, and Sam rolls his eyes and complies.

The Brit's eyebrows climb and his eyes go cold. The guy's got career military, trauma, retired, written all over him. Just the one in a hundred guy who could clean up the floor with one slightly worse for wear Winchester. Dean knows he could take the guy if he were in fine form — the dude's gotta have ten, fifteen years on him at least — but Dean hasn't had a chance to get himself back in top form since... hell, since Sam came back on the road with him, and that was years ago.  Since then, it's just been one thing after another, no time to breathe, much less train.  

There was the year with Lisa ... but that's water under the bridge, another dead thing that's gotta stay buried.

The dealer leads the table through a round, and Dean cleans up.  The Brit's just thrown down a thousand bucks and it's in Dean's pocket.  Sam's loudly giving him the stand up and walk away eye, so Dean scoops up his chips, stands up and walks away.  Why is he not surprised when the Brit stands too, taps him on the shoulder.  Hell.

"Look, man, I'm sorry you dropped your wad all at once.  That's how the cookie crumbles,"   Dean says, dropping status as low as he can, smiling easy.

The Brit's looking him right in the eye.  Crazy eyes.  God damn it.  

"S'all right. The money's not a problem.  I need your help, Dean Winchester," he says, just as lightly, just as easy, but his eyes glint darkly as he says Dean's name.

Fuck.  Dean scratches the back of his neck.  "That's my brother, there with your girl. Can we find someplace better to talk?"

"Okay," the guy smiles. Crazy smile. All of Dean's hackles are standing up. He's giving Sammy the help me eyes.  Sammy begins to loom, but Dean gives him the low sign, so Sam murmurs to the girl.

Dean heaves a sigh of relief when the girl pats Sam on the arm.  Maybe she's just the good cop, but she's not crazy, so that's one thing.  

Maybe there's a chance to save this night after all.

Dean cashes out his chips and gives half to Sam, and the four of them settle down in one of the all-night, all-you-can-eat breakfast buffets.  The Brit, who calls himself the Doctor, seems to live on jam and toast. That name, though, the Doctor, it gives Dean the creeps, makes him think of knives, and Alastair, and that's never good.  The girl, Rose, gets a load of fruit and sausages, and keeps stealing toast off the Doctor's plate.  Just as Dean expected; well, he can keep his hands to himself, and besides, she's way too young.  Sam gets some kind of well-balanced plate that Dean ignores, piling on meat.  What good is a buffet if you don't load up on meat, Dean would like to know.

"There's an object," the Doctor says,  "and it's in the wrong hands.  I think you and your brother can help us get it back."  

If it weren't for the crazy-crazy vibe, Dean could kind of like this guy.  He's got a great jacket for one thing, and Dean's missed his since it was stolen, back when he was either a wreck in Lisa's spare room or a wreck in some dive thirty miles outside Cicero.  

"When you say the wrong hands," Sam fished.

"Demons," the girl says, flipping a look to the Doctor.  

"Well, yeah, okay, we're your boys then," Dean admits.  "You know how many?"

"Too many," says the Doctor.  "I'm gonna be busy retrieving this object, so I need you to handle the foot soldiers while I take down the leader."

"Who's the leader?"

"Alien," Rose says.

"No such thing," Dean and Sam twinspeak.  

The Doctor and Rose break out in wide grins.  "That's what they want you to think," Rose says, conspiratorially, while the Doctor just smiles.  

Dean frowns.  

"I've got two hearts, me," the Doctor says.  

"Sure you do, Spock," Dean retorts.  Crazy.

"Why do you people keep calling me Spock?  The ears are completely different!" the Doctor complains.  

"We can prove it, can't we, Doctor," the girl says in her Cockney accent.  

He nods, smugly, Dean thinks.

"Lead the way, guvna," Dean sings, and both of them glare. He throws down some winnings, and they follow.  

Not far from the playing floor is an old blue box, just big enough to walk inside, stuck in a corner.  The Doctor just walks right up and unlocks the door, looking back for them to follow him.

"Kinky," Dean says, imaging the four of them, crammed together in the closet.  Crammed up against the girl, he hopes — the Doctor just isn't his type.  Maybe Sammy likes him better.  Dean risks a glance and Sam is frowning darkly at him. Yup, mancrush.  He knows that boy like the back of his hand.  

But as they walk in, a huge space opens out in front of him, and Dean's eyes widen.  It's not so much the interior decoration as it is the weird, pervasive humming.  

"Holy shit," Dean and Sam twinspeak again.  They've gotta take a vacation or something, Dean thinks.  

"Welcome to the Tardis," the Doctor says grandly.  

"It's bigger on the inside," Sam says, his jaw slack.  Dean rolls his eyes: obviously.  

Rose shows a lot of teeth.  She's taken and she's too young, but Dean likes her.  

"Nice," Dean says, nodding, hoping he's successfully playing it cool.   "Now, can you all describe this object we're after?"

"It's sort of a crystal, right, Doctor?"  Rose says.

"Yeah, it's a Vulnavian focus stone.  These demons of yours could use it to bring their worst nightmares to life."  

"We wouldn't want that," Dean says, grimly.  Sam also had worst nightmares he'd prefer to keep undead.

"What?" Rose asks the Doctor.  "You mean, demons are real?"

"All too real, sister," Dean says.  

The Doctor presses his lips closed as Rose looks at him for clarification, and finally she turns away.  Dean has the impression the Doctor thinks he knows something — but Dean knows more about demons than anyone on the planet, and the Doctor has come to him for help, so.  

It's a fairly straightforward bait and trap operation.  The demons are holed up in a neighborhood house in old Vegas.  Sam and Dean will lead an attack on the house, trapping, expelling, and distracting as many demons as possible, while the Doctor and Rose go for the leader and try to retrieve the crystal.  

Dean sharpies protection tattoos on both the Brits.  The Doctor bristles,  gritting his teeth while Rose pulls down the collar of her shirt, but Dean is the perfect gentleman.  

The Doctor picks up the exorcism on the first try, and Rose learns it quickly as  Sam coaches her on it.  Dean gives them several bottles each of holy water — the Doctor is adamant that they won't use guns.  "Your loss," Dean says, shrugging.  

Dean usually enjoys driving civilians in the Impala, but the Doctor fidgets and Rose keeps swerving at the feeling of being on the wrong side of the road.

"She's beautiful," Rose whispers as they get out, but it feels conciliatory to Dean.

"Smaller on the inside," the Doctor mutters.

"Watch it, Statham," Dean retorts under his breath.

Everything goes as planned.  Turns out there are more demons than they've counted on — that always happens.  Dean always doubles Sam's estimates in his head.  The devil's trap tarps they've come up are genius... instantly immobilizing any demon that runs across them, and of course, they work face down, so the demons don't catch on.

There's one hairy moment when a demon cuts its own arm and rushes at Sam with the blood, but since Hell, and the wall, and all that, it's not Sam's weakness anymore.  The part of him that had no soul for over a year kicked that habit and now Sam is clean, for which Dean is immeasurably grateful, despite the mechanical look that comes over Sam every once in a while, when things have gotten a little too much for him.  

Rose throws holy water with extreme accuracy, it turns out, and the Doctor is as good as a professional with his exorcisms.  It's a ten minute skirmish, the leader surrenders — apparently some smalltime conman ("an ex of a friend," Rose mutters) — and the crystal is back in friendly hands.  

"Any place you'd like to go, anything you'd like to see?" the Doctor asks, as the Winchesters drop Rose and the Doctor back at their box.  

"Dean," Sam pleads.  

"You're telling me this thing flies?" Dean asks nervously.

"Not really, no," the Doctor said.  Crazy smile is back.  "It moves through time and relative dimensions in space. Or you could say, it stays still as everything moves around it."

"You never told me that!" Rose carps.

"Vast oversimplification," the Doctor amends. "Anyways, best ship in the universe.  Wanna go for a spin?"

Dean looks into the Doctor's eyes, and at last, he sees past the crazy, past the broken soldier, to the heart of the man within — the man with a great ship and a whole universe spread out before him. He just needs someone to see it with.

"Yeah!" Dean answers at last.  "That sounds great!"

Sam's jaw drops as Dean strides through the doors into the console room.  

"But I better be back five minutes before we left. I don't want my baby getting towed."

"Okay!" the Doctor beams, and with a boom, the doors close, and the Winchesters go off to see a little bit of the universe.  


End file.
